What Happens In Vegas
by Mary Allen
Summary: Back in the times when the existence of angels was highly speculative and rescue missions didn t involve saving the world, everything was simpler. Or was it? A string of suspicious suicides in Las Vegas attract the attention of the Winchester brothers. And because Vegas, baby, this investigation won t be routine at all. Casefic. Rated M for light eroticism.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke. This story belongs to VivianaStellata of Wattpad.**

 **In an attempt to polish my English before moving to study in Canada, I decided to deliver this gem of Czech Supernatural fanfiction to the wider international audience here at FF, with the consent of the story´s original author.**

 **WINCEST WARNING: I didn´t include a Wincest warning in the summary because I didn´t want to Wincest-bait people who are interested in it and didn´t want to scare off people not interested in it. THIS ISN´T A WINCEST STORY, although there may be ´hints´, so I wanted to warn people. Except there aren´t really. What will ensue is best described in the author´s words: _this Wincest-not-Wincest story is my way of dealing with the Wincest phenomenon while staying completely true to the canon characters._**

* * *

 **Now**

 **Barstow Freeway, Newberry Springs, Nevada**

"You know what they say about Vegas!"

"Dean, seriously, I grasped it the first time around, which was an hour ago. You keep repeating yourself. Can we stop it?"

"What happens in Vegas..."

"Gah!" groaned Sam, leaned further back into the car seat and stuck his gaze into the roof of the Impala. "I get it! We won´t talk about it with anyone ever, okay?!"

"...stays in Vegas."

"Keep going and I will develop a serious urge to have a chat with a shrink."

His brother turned to him with a genuinely terrified expression. "Hey, we just said we won´t ever talk about this to anyone!"

"Great, now stop talking a hole into my head."

Dean scoffed and returned his attention back to the road. The highway to Barstow resembled a straight line in white-hot sand. It sufficed to maintain the direction. Focusing on driving would do nothing to help ease his mind.

Maybe a couple of shots. Or bottles.

"We should find us some _normal_ job." Dean grumbled at last. "At least, our kind of normal. Find a few sons of bitches, gank them and move on."

"Sure. Except you know it always goes wrong."

"This didn´t go wrong," Dean shuddered. "This never happened. Period. We won´t talk about it. Ever."

Sam rolled his eyes.

Everything was going back to the rut.

* * *

 **Two days earlier**

 **Barstow Freeway, opposite direction**

"I still don´t think this is our kind of gig."

Considering they already spent a few hours on the road, this was senseless banter on his brother´s side, but it was annoying nonetheless. "Look, for the last time," Sam growled. "Eight suicides in one month-"

"Dude, it´s friggin´ Vegas! Some people don´t know how to lose with grace."

"Eight suicides in one month. I admit, each one was committed in a different manner, but they were all preceded by the same events. And all of them were men."

"Yeah, because chicks don´t have to resort to suicide. When they´re stone-broke, they just have to cling to another guy. And just because some poor losers get lost for a few days before they get plastered enough to find the courage to end it, well, Sammy, it doesn´t exactly sound like a Twilight Zone kind of case."

The younger Winchester sighed and considered getting out of the car mid-ride. Instead, with causticity he fell back to only in self-defense, he retorted: "For your information, Dean – the local police has about as much imagination as you do, so this motive was the first thing they looked for. And you know what? Surprise. None of the dead guys, not one of the eight of them lost more than 20 bucks before they died."

Dean was silent, staring obstinately ahead.

"So? Still feels normal? _Not our kind of gig_?"

Silence.

"Something _killed_ those eight guys. And not only they don´t deserve for their deaths to be concluded as suicides, not only it needs to be stopped, but it would be nice if you stopped playing it down because you think I´m making a mountain out of a molehill."

"Fine," Dean finally caved in. "You know that when I commit to something, I commit all the way. So I like to be sure that it´s going to be worth it."

"Could you be making sure differently than by doubting everything I say?"

"That way it helps you to bring out best of you, Sammy. Actually, I´m helping you to put everything in line."

"Sure, you´re a total Kwai Chang Caine," mumbled Sam. "How about you rather trust me on doing my job well? You always put on the condescending face of the older and wiser... I´m really tired of it. We´ve been through a lot together, dammit, went through so much crazy to make a smaller town go nuts. Sure, there are thing which even I don´t trust myself to do, but-"

"Sam?"

"Maybe I am predestined to do something horrible, maybe I am really not to be trusted, I don´t know."

"Sammy?"

"But for now I would appreciate if you considered that when I do the damn research, I do it _well_! What is it?"

"I apologize to you and to those eight poor bastards. Seriously. Can you calm down?"

"I am calm."

"Great. Because I´m getting a headache from all this."

"Ha! And isn´t that because you´ve been living off of coffee, booze and tacos for the last three days?"

"Shut up, nutrition freak!" Dean barked out and clenched the steering wheel more firmly.

"As you wish," his brother replied silently. He turned his head to the side window and proceeded to observe the flat dessert land with feigned interest.

XXXX

The motel room looked schizophrenic. The furniture was simple but lacquered in bright colors. And sequins. There were sequins on the curtains. Together with the claret-colored bedding and a wallpaper filled with phoney pop-art hearts, roses, guns and comics bubbles, it felt like a brothel for confused teenagers.

"Awesome," commented Dean to nobody in particular. While he was unpacking the few things that needed to unpack, he was whistling Ramble On. "Awesome," he repeated at last and jumped on the springy mattress. "So?"

Sam was busy unfolding the gathered research materials on the table. When he turned to his brother, he still had a slightly pissed expression. "So what?"

"Take command," Dean looked straight at Sam. "I trust you."

"God," Sam breathed out. "I knew you´re going to get back at me. Alright. I´ll give you the addresses of the eight dead, four of them are locals. Check if they had any personal problems. The police already went through the trouble but they may have missed something."

"Sure."

"Meanwhile, I´ll just check something in dad´s journal, and then I´ll go to... wait-" Sam scanned through his notes: "Cherry Pies – this bar is probably the only thing these eight guys had in common." He checked his brother´s reaction with somewhat mischievous expectation.

"Okay, I´ll catch up with you once I´m done with mine," Dean smiled. "In the meantime, if you decide to begin some... hmm, relaxation activity, don´t wait for me. I´d say you need to blow off a little steam and by little I mean a lot."

"Mhm. Thanks for the analysis, Freud."

"Anytime." Dean stretched, springing on the mattress. "It´s like a trampoline."

Sam didn´t even raise his eyes from the papers. "Like a kid."

His brother jumped out of the bed, reached out over Sam´s head for the list of the victims´ addresses lying on the table and at the last moment changed to course of his hand before it would ruffle Sam´s hair. Even in his rollicking mood, he felt it would be for the best to not cross certain borders. He resorted to just patting Sam´s shoulder. "Do something for yourself. Get out into that bar ASAP. Vegas, dude, Vegas!"

With a jolly grin, Dean vanished into the shimmering hot air outside, whistling a tune.

* * *

The bar was really called Cherry Pies and looked accordingly. Red and white, designed in the style of 80s´ glam rock, and a petite blonde in a fitting, cherry red top behind the counter.

It was early afternoon and the bar was empty, work was supposed to begin once the sun set. The girl behind the bar was polishing glasses and chewing gum so intensely she ran a risk of dislocating her jaw. Her hostile glare was following Sam as he entered the bar and headed to the counter. He tried to smile at her and break the ice, but her face just went from annoyed to bored.

"We ain´t open yet, technically," she announced instead of a greeting. "But I can pour you a drink. Dough ain´t lookin´ at no clocks."

Sam appreciated her philosophy with another smile. "I´m sorry. I didn´t come here to drink, I just have one question for you."

"Jesus," she sighed theatrically. "Shoot."

Sam placed eight photos on the counter.

"Yea," she said without more than a quick glance at the pictures. "The cops´re here already 'bout ´em. Twice. There´re four of us here, sometimes even part-timers, and they harassed us all. What´d they expect we tell ´em?"

"Ehm, I don´t know. What can you tell me?"

"And you´re some kinda detective or somethin´?"

He hesitated for a second. Originally, he wanted to act from the position of federal authority, but after seeing the girl´s attitude... He put on his best Sam Spade face: "I am, let´s say, a private eye."

"Hmm, great," she pulled out the gum out of her mouth and stuck it under the counter with a well-practiced movement. "Look, I ain´t exactly free to chew the fat with you, if you don´t order a drink, at least."

 _Vegas, dude_ , his brother´s words rang out in Sam´s head.

"Here Andrew Jackson will take one," he placed the twenty dollar bill on the counter and pushed it in the girl´s direction. Her meticulously shaped eyebrows rose almost to her hairline and she smiled for the first time. "Sure, mister. I´d love to have a chat with a dead president."

"I´ll have a beer," Sam decided. "That is, if they serve me one in a technically closed bar."

"Hmm," she girl dragged out again. "Corona?"

"Do I have a choice?"

She smiled again and flashed her perfectly white teeth. Chewing gum effect, probably.

"So..."

"Cindy," the girl introduced herself as she drafted beer into two tall glasses.

 _Of course it has to be Cindy_ , Sam thought. "Okay, Cindy," Sam managed to begin without showing a hint of the weariness that was beginning to take over him. "Can you tell me something about those men? Something the police haven´t found out yet. They were regulars, right?"

"Yessir, detective," she sneered cheekily, pushed Sam´s beer in front of him and sat on the bar stool facing Sam, nursing her own glass. "Look, the only thing nobody here fed the cops was this one tiny detail."

Cindy leaned over the counter and Sam caught a whiff of her mint breath, still without the bitter reek of beer.

"I know, speak well of the dead and all, but every last one of them´re serious assholes. I mean the guys."

"Ah?"

"Just that type of a macho dude. He looks at you – well, not at you, right, you´d have to be a small, sacked blonde – but he looks and you know right away that he only sees jugs on legs." She looked around nervously. The worldly look vanished from her face and suddenly she looked good ten years younger. "Sorry I´m tellin´ you this, I really shouldn´t. But you ain´t a normal bar-fly, yeah?"

"It´s alright," Sam mumbled to his thin beer foam. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"You helped me. You don´t even know how much," he looked at the clock behind the bar. There was still plenty of time left before Cherry Pies woke up and Dean would show up. "Did some of them have any conflict with some of your colleagues by any chance? Or even with the, um, _dancers_ or anyone else."

"The cops asked that too," Cindy scrunched the perfect arches of her eyebrows in thought. "But you ain´t gonna be goin´ around makin´ trouble for anyone, right? After all those poor bastards offed themselves, no?"

"Looks that way." Sam chose not to elaborate.

"Hmm. Look, _conflicts_ is a pretty fancy word for what´s happenin´ here every evening. If you hang around, you´ll see for yourself. I´ll tell Sean, that´s our bouncer, to have a word with you, he´ll listen to me. He doesn´t talk with cops."

"I understand," Sam looked at the clock again. "Would you mind if I stuck around until evening somewhere here? I don´t want to bother you, I´ll be working and wait here for my partner. I can also introduce you to another dead president to not damage the business."

"Mmm," Cindy purred, "god, you´re so sweet, detective."

"I´ll take that as a yes."

She nodded. "Take that box in the corner. Best view from there."

 _Say once more that my style leads us nowhere,_ Sam mentally challenged Dean. _Now just find out what kind of militant feminist monster here drives chauvinists to kill themselves, stop it and maybe Dean will still have spare time to have fun in Vegas._

* * *

There would be dark outside, if something like that stood a chance in Vegas. When Dean opened the door to Cherry Pies, he just traded the stifling and dusty world of neon lights for the stifling and slightly smoky world of fluorescent lamps.

"Classic," he shook his head when his gaze found Sam. It was as if his brother created an islet of his personal Sam-reality. The coffee-stained table in front of him was covered with paper sheets, his notebook haphazardly balancing on a pile of books. Sam was scribbling something furiously into his writing pad and would probably react only if the breasts of some of the ladies present covered his view of the letters.

Meanwhile one of the girls behind the counter, a cute blonde, kept ogling Sam with such covetous eyes that she could as well be holding a huge banner saying **"SAM –** **SEX!"**

Which was also probably the only way to get Sam´s attention. _Letters_.

Dean ordered two shots of scotch, sat down to the table across from his brother and dangled the glass with the amber-colored liquid inside in front of Sam´s eyes.

To his surprise, Sam instantly knocked back the shot.

"Hey, slow down, cowboy," Dean said. "What´s going on?"

"I´m stuck," Sam turned his red-rimmed eyes to his brother, utter discontent with himself etched on his face. "Dean, I talked to anyone who as much as met those damn guys in the restroom and beside the fact that the vics weren´t exactly the nicest people of the world, I couldn´t find anything that would narrow the monster pool down. It can be anything from a vengeful spirit to a demon"

"I see."

"Thing is, I don´t know where else to search. I didn´t find anything about any dead woman – because I think whatever it is, it´s a she, judging by the MO. Didn´t even find out about any living woman that would connect the eight vics. What did you find?"

"Big fat nothing," Dean scoffed. He emptied his glass and gestured to Cindy to bring another round. He rested his elbows on the table and continued: "One of the bereaved almost gouged out my eyes. Which, by the way, she probably wanted to do to the dead guy. Another was in divorce proceedings, but judging from how miffed his ex-wife-to-be was, I´d say he wasn´t exactly upset over it. Two lived quite... well, lonely isn´t the correct word, more like in high style. With a lot of short-term partners. I drove to visit another two that lived near. Same thing in light blue. I checked the last two at least by phone. Sam, I don´t like saying it, but they all were real dicks."

"That doesn´t mean they deserved to die."

"No. And I don´t think those were suicides anymore either. This kind of sons of bitches doesn´t just gank themselves like that. They badger everyone around them while they can."

They both mulled it over for a while. Sam was tapping his lips with the end of his pen, Dean intently watched the scotch he was rolling around the bottom of his glass. As they were lost in thought, what was considered a regular evening in Cherry Pies got underway. Two platforms with dancers were surrounded by onlookers. The now four young waitresses and one slender guy who prepared cocktails were struggling to serve the newly-emerged crowd squeezing together by the bar. Air grew heavy with alcohol fumes, cigarette smoke and sweat.

"It _has_ to do something with this bar," Sam shouted, trying to get his words to Dean over the sound of bass beats blasting from the speakers by the stage. "It´s the only thing connecting the vics aside from being a dick."

"Agreed," Dean nodded. "I suggest we wait and observe the buzz."

His eyes were shining and despite their poorly-progressing case, he looked like he was in his element.

"I see you´re downright suffering," Sam observed.

"Why not combine business with pleasure? You should try it as well, Sammy. I think you made quite the impression on the small blonde behind the bar," Dean winked at him.

"Dammit, Dean, stop trying to set me up with some girl-"

"Hey!" the older brother raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Alright. Your decision. I´m going to check things out, if you want to join, you know you´re always welcome."

"Thanks," Sam growled. "I need to check if there after all wasn´t some violent death that would explain everything, and try to find a solution."

"You always learn the most curious things at the bar," Dean shrugged his shoulders and stood up to prove his statement in practice.

"Hey, I found a chick who knew all the eight dicks," he breathed into Sam´s ear roughly an hour later. Any lesser drinker would breathe themselves to a decent hangover from the fumes alone. "Personally, Sammy. I´ll investigate it.

"Keys," hummed Sam.

"Eh?"

"Do as you think fit, but I´m not letting you drive."

"Hm," Dean looked him up and down. "Okay." That surprised Sam. "I said that you´re taking command, so sure. Take care of my baby," he added with a dopey smile, then leaned even closer. "Sammy, I´ll need at least one of those trampoline mattresses for my investigation, so..."

"I understand, I´ll make sure to not come in at the wrong time."

"Awesome," Dean gave him a conspiratorial wink and fortunately also the car keys. He also added a pat on the back and then Sam could watch him help a long-legged brunette with large (not only) eyes into her light coat. The woman was laughing at something, completely enchanted by Dean´s charm. Exactly how much they wanted to investigate some dead strangers was painfully obvious to Sam.

He sighed. When he caught Cindy´s gaze, he headed towards her. Not that he intended to listen to his brother and _unwind_ , but he had a few more questions in mind.

"Wait, that brunette with the red coat?" Cindy asked when Sam finally made it through the line. While she talked, she never stopped drafting beer. All of her make-up couldn´t cover the sweat sparkling on her forehead and in her cleavage. "That´s Annina. She´s a regular and she´s really sweet, seriously. Just a bit too much into guys, y´know what I mean."

"No I don´t," Sam knew that this worn out girl behind the bar isn´t exactly excited by him mining for information and that even another slipped bank note won´t fix it. Except he was starting to have a feeling that something was wrong. "I heard that she was close to those eight we talked about."

"Yeah, she´s into those types. But I can´t see her hurtin´ anybody. More like I´m scared for her. She always pulls through, but you know, someday she runs across a real nasty guy..."

"I understand," Sam frowned. He didn´t want to ask the next question, but it could prove essential. "When she left with some of those eight, well... Have you seen him around after?"

Cindy flung her head and pressed her lips angrily.

"Hey, I´m not saying she did something to them, but perhaps I could just-"

"Annina´s the nicest person I ever met, _detective_ ," she hissed, the affection she showed towards Sam till now gone without a trace. "She doesn´t deserve someone botherin´ her because of some assholes like those guys were."

"Did they really deserve to die?" Sam asked so quietly that she couldn´t possible hear him in the surrounding noise, except she did. An angrered expression flashed across her face, she slammed the beer glasses on the table, foam splashing around. Without heeding the irritated complains of the surrounding drunkards, she pointed her index finger with a pretty little crimson nail on Sam: "They _killed themselves_ , detective! And maybe you should leave now. I don´t think this place has a good effect on you."

Sam sensed, rather than saw, the bouncer Sean standing behind his back. When he talked with him in the afternoon, he was quite friendly. That was however not the case now. The hulking black man matched Sam in height, looming behind him like an ebony statue, his small black eyes burning a hole in Sam´s back.

"No problem," Sam mumbled, "I am leaving."

Either way, he needed to check Dean asap. And more importantly ´the nicest girl ever´, who was the last to see eight suicide victims alive.

* * *

Blurred. Hazy. Vague.

This couldn´t be the scotch´s doing, he definitely didn´t have this much. Still, all he was left with were mere fragments of memories.

SUV Bentley with bloody red varnish, in which he rode shotgun while the most gorgeous woman under the sun was laughing behind the wheel.

The scent. Her scent, stunning and homey at the same time, like a pie straight out of the oven, like sun rays in hair, spices, dirt, water, like two bodies heated up by love-making.

An anonymous room of an anonymous motel. There he remembered his ´trampoline´ mattress and dazedly tried to suggest something, but _she_ didn´t allow him to speak.

The flavor. She tasted like cherries and blood.

The touch. Light tingling in the tips of fingers. He felt her through the entire surface of his body. Wisps of her long, soft hair tickling his chest – he didn´t remember when he managed to get undressed. Tip of her tongue, caressing his most sensitive area.

Whispers. Each sound she breathed against his body took him away from reality into the sphere of pure pleasure. The intensity of the moment, stretched into infinity, almost hurt.

He remembered... Two bodies united into one, the moment of exertion. Almost unbearably delightful spasms. Warmth, waves of soothing warmth emanating from the groin all the way to the head obscured his perception.

"Enjoy it, little one."

He remembered those few words. He just didn´t understand who spoke them and for whom they were meant.

"Enjoy your new self..."

Velvety darkness under his eyelids. The low humming of blood in his temples was lulling him to sleep.

"And be careful. The scent I shrouded you in will lure the entire pack."

Light steps, the sound muffled by the thick carpet. He tried reaching out with his hand, restore the moment in which he was able to forget all of his darkness and guilt and be happy.

But she was gone. And memories faded away along with her...

* * *

"Dean?" Sam only saw dark behind the motel room doors and couldn´t hear any sounds, but to be sure he pounded on the door once more and called for Dean. When he received no response, only then he unlocked the door and burst inside.

Nothing indicated that his brother showed up here since the moment he left for research in early afternoon.

"Great," Sam sat on the bed. When the mattress under him sprung, he cringed. "You have time till morning, Casanova," he turned to his brother´s empty bed. "You better show up. We need to look into your friend Annina."

He massaged the root of his nose. He was starting to get a headache. Hell, he would welcome pain connected to a vision if it meant he can get this case moving, but here it just looked like an ordinary migraine.

He still opened his notebook and typed in "annina" at random.

Just as he finished typing the word, he jolted. He jumped up without bothering to go through the search results and feverishly started pulling out papers out of his bag. On the front side of his writing pad, he wrote a single word. A name.

"God, Dean, please don´t let it be _this_ screw-up," he whispered.

The empty room left his words without an answer.

* * *

 **This story will have three parts, published throughout the course of three consecutive days at approximately the same time, so see you tomorrow. Praise will be translated and forwarded to the original author.**


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up was harsh. The bed was spinning with him and swaying like a boat at a stormy sea. He had a splitting headache. A moment after he cracked open his eyes and looked at the flaking plaster ceiling, Dean had to claw his way out of the sheets and staggeringly run where he suspected was a bathroom.

"What the hell," he growled with his head in the toilet bowl. "I never have puking hangovers dammit."

To tell the truth, he didn´t have any hangover whatsoever for a long time now. Somehow he couldn´t manage to squeeze one in amidst all the highs.

He twisted with a spasm again. When he straightened and wiped his mouth, he felt a little better. And only now it began to dawn on him that he had more serious problem than the sudden drop in his alcohol resistance.

A _far_ more serious problem.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed out. "What... where is... why do I have..."

His nausea was quickly forgotten with the bewilderment. He dragged himself to a standing position, leaned on the sink and stared in the mirror.

The only thing he recognized were green eyes and almost imperceptible sprinkling of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Other than that, a fairly cute girl with disheveled brown hair that reached her shoulder blades, full lips and a playful dimple on her chin stared back from the mirror.

"Oh shit!"

His gaze slid lower, from the reflection to the real thing. Utterly fascinated, he raised his hands and placed his palms on the round breasts with dark nipples. The weight and size was more than pleasing. A silly grin appeared on the girl´s face.

"Damn!"

His hand slid lower, the grin vanishing from his face, replaced by pure, unbrindled _horror vacui_. The fear of emptiness. Not even the most gorgeous chick can replace a...

"Oh hell no, dammit, is is _definitely_ not happening!"

A flurry of conflicting emotions irritated his stomach once again. And now he even managed to get vomit on his hair.

Awesome. An expression far far away from cute appeared on the cute face.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Dean screamed and before he could control himself, he smashed the mirror to pieces with one of his small fists. "What did you do to me?!"

The fact that his voice sounded like shrieking of fangirls on a Justin Bieber concert certainly didn´t aid in keeping his composure.

* * *

"Sorry, bro. We´re done. I won´t let ya in."

If anything in this conflict could calm Sam down, it would be the fact that he was as tall as the bouncer. However, Sean was in completely different weight category and most of his mass consisted of pure muscle.

"It´s alright," Sam told him in a conciliatory manner. Dawn was slowly breaking and the lights on billboards were growing pale, like colors on old photographs. "Maybe you could help me. I need to find the girl, I heard she´s a regular. Annina."

"I don´t see a reason to help ya," the man growled. "It looked like ya managed to nicely piss of Cindy, and now I should send ya to Ann to... What is it ya want with her?"

"Look, she left here with my brother and I really need to find him."

To his surprise, Sean threw his head back and roarer with hearty laughter. Then he clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam nearly buckled the force of it. "Sorry, man, but _seriously_?"

"Very seriously." In that moment, Sam understood Dean´s angry fits. He had to hold back the urge to whip out his gun and simply force this guy to rattle everything he knows. But Sean was convinced he was protecting a friend, he was innocent in this whole thing. Sam sighed and mentally pleaded his brother for forgiveness.

"You know," Sam continued with a poorly performed submission, "it´s just that my brother is a bit of a hothead, and when he´s drunk... you know it."

Sean´s face froze into a stone mask.

"I´m trying to watch over him," Sam finished ruining his situation.

"If somethin´ happens to Ann," the bouncer growled, "I´ll personally make mincemeat out of your bro, ya hear me?" He looked around as if he was searching for a clue on how to continue. "Look, she´s a bit of a... birdie of passage, she never stays long in one place. But she comes here on some mornings. Me and the girls are then calm, ´cause we know she´s alright, she gets breakfast and coffee and goes about her business. So ya wait here, like everyone else, to see if Ann shows up..."

"Did she show up after those eight guys vanished?" Sam couldn´t resist.

"Hey, man, ya really need to stop with that!"

"Can´t we at least call her?"

Sean made a bit of a sad face. "She doesn´t have a phone. Doesn´t want to. What about your brother?"

"He probably switched off the ringing," Sam shrugged his shoulders. He didn´t mention he also tried to track Dean through his phone signal. Not even how disconcerted he was about his brother´s phone disappearing from the world. He rubbed his forehead. "A car," he blurted out after a while, "does Annina have a car or did they take a cab from here?"

Understanding appeared on Sean´s face, like sun appearing from behind a cloud. "Red Bentley Bentayga. Number starts N11, then I dunno."

"Great," Sam smiled.

"You´re sayin´ that you can find her from that, detective?"

"Do you have connection here?"

"Ya bet."

"Then we are quite likely to find where Annina is right now."

* * *

The clothes didn´t fit him at all. Everything was either too tight or too loose.

Not that it could stop Dean.

He was more angry that the bitch didn´t leave him with anything except clothes. Money, all of his papers, his phone. She even took his necklace, without which he felt even more insecure in his current predicament, if that was even possible.

Once he was sure he can safely leave the bathroom, he looked through the room one last time. When even this time he didn´t discover anything that could aid him, he left the room. He tried to walk quietly, inconspicuously get out and then figure out what next. But his feet were gargling in his shoes.

He almost faceplanted on the floor in front of the reception when he tried to sneak past.

A bald head of a bespectacled elderly man peeped out from behind the counter. "Excuse me miss, but I don´t remember registering you in the guest book."

Dean jerked at that addressing – _that nerve, a challenge to fight!_ He put on what he thought is an innocent smile. "I´ll be out right away," he announced, "don´t mind me at all."

But the man was already rising from his chair and he was before the counter faster than Dean expected. He blocked Dean´s way to the exit.

"Why the hurry, missy," he was mumbling. The eyes behind his glasses were strangely glassed over, distant. He sucked in a breath like hunting dog catching a scent. "What about a cup of warm coffee in the morning, and maybe something more, what do you say, little kitty..."

 _Ew, sleazy!_

"Whoa, back off, dude!" Dean shouted and stepped back before the receptionist could grab him by the arm. He tried to slip by him to the exit.

However, the man´s arms were like the tentacles of an octopus. And Dean had a handicap in the form of shifted center of gravity and shoes a couple sizes too big. Before he realized what was happening, the old man was panting into his ear and was pulling him closer.

"Dammit!" he cursed. He shoved the man away with all of his strength, whereupon he staggered and landed on his butt. His shirt popped open and revealed the treasures Dean himself would love to gape at under any other circumstances.

"Muah," the receptionist reached for Dean, glasses askew and a drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. A total zombie.

"Ah, screw this," Dean hissed. He scrambled himself from the floor and finally made his escape.

* * *

Nobody was ever this happy to be up and running before sunrise. It helped Dean avoid people. If the fresh experience with the receptionist wasn´t enough, then after meeting two random passer-byes, one a feeble old man walking a pinch, the other a haggard-looking boy, he had an idea of how other males would now react to him.

Nothing pleasant.

Fortunately, it didn´t take him long to ´borrow´ a car. To drive to Cherry Pies in the morning traffic was a matter of twenty minutes.

Check that there´s no Impala in the parking lot, two seconds.

Find out the bar is locked, three minutes.

Curse and kick the door in vain, minute and half.

Drive the stolen car to the motel, another half an hour.

The Impala wasn´t there either. Which meant that Sam is who knows where. He checked the reception from afar. He cursed when he saw a man behind the counter. He could forget making a call from there. Now just find a phone booth... and change.

He looked at his reflection in the nearest glass surface. He looked like a supermodel after a demanding drinking spree. He turned sideways. Nodded approvingly. The body looked good, but his exterior desperately needed maintenance.

God, what is he thinking about? That bitch didn´t switch his _brain_ after all.

Or did she?

Alright, a bit of sprucing up can´t hurt. Sam should be safe from that bitch. It´s obviously some kind of feminist monster. She has a grudge against guys who take the initiative, not against timid nerds.

When Sam comes back, they´re going to figure out what that bitch is and then they´re going to gank her. Meanwhile...

He smiled almost dreamily when he imagined shower. After a barfy morning and the ensuing drool-over from the receptionist, he felt as if he swam here through the sewers.

Dean nodded to himself and set out to his newest goal. The fact that the room was locked posed no hurdle for Dean Winchester in whichever bodily form.

The first place where Sam noticed the presence of a red Bentley was a bust. He used one of his police aliases and the receptionist confirmed that Dean and Annina checked in there, but their room is empty now. He couldn´t say how long they´ve been there and when they left. Overall the man looked very ruffled and stirred. It looked like he had a difficult night. At a straight-forward question he only mumbled that he had a conflict with some young tramp girl.

In another location, Sam found the Bentley, but not Annina. The car was parked in an underground parking lot and it didn´t take much effort on Sam´s side to silently break in. In the glove compartment he found what he was afraid to find: Dean´s cell without the SIM card and without battery, his wallet and even his necklace.

"That bitch," he muttered. He was almost falling over from fatigue, however this find charged him up and he immediately got into work. That was to get a recording from the cameras around the parking lot and find out where the brunette went to.

With all the other victims, there was at least a two day window between their disappearance and suicide. Whatever happened to Dean, Sam had a damn big chance of tracking down the murdering monster.

His fist squeezed his brother´s necklace.

No. Not chance.

This was certainty.

The shower really hit the spot.

The stream of of steaming hot water at least temporarily flushed the murderous rage. Only now that he finally relaxed, Dean realized how tense he was before.

He closed his eyes and massaged the motel soap into his scalp. A really strange feeling, taking care of long hair. How the hell did Sam bother with that.

Automatically, he begun rubbing the soap all over his body. He stopped almost immediately. Everything was so damn weird. The delicate collar bones, tender arms, wrists he´d broke at the first proper punch. And the breasts...

He probably never experienced something that would epitomize the word _confusing_ more.

But it was also... _exciting_...

A wave of guilt swept through him and he retracted his hands from his breasts. Those damn pheromones that bitch roofied him with must be influencing even himself, he couldn´t explain it otherwise.

 _But wait, when will I have another opportunity to try something like this?_

He could almost imagine the tempting devil on his shoulder.

He cleared his throat. He wiggled his hips and with his eyes still closed, he raised an imaginary microphone to his lips: "Just like a white winged dove, sings a song, sounds like she´s singing, ooh, ooh, ooh..."

He fell silent, unsure eyes darted around as if he was expecting hordes of random listeners and then he smiled. His lips silently mouthed "wow".

He could cross another item from his bucket list. That was good. Next...

He held out his new body against the water current. He grew solemn. He didn´t flinch away his hand from his breasts this time and his right hand slid lower. A strip of short pubic hair on an otherwise cleanly shaven crotch. The slim fingers quickly found their way.

He leaned his back against the wall; he had to breathe this one out.

But at the same time, he couldn´t stop.

When he exited the shower twenty minutes later, his legs were shaking. The climactic feeling of pleasure was slowly being drowned out by the bitter taste of of guilt. Sam was running around without rest to solve this whole fiasco, and Dean?

He flopped down on the bed. This time, he didn´t even smile, even when the mattress catapulted him good twenty inches into the air.

Dammit. Maybe he should get some clothes on, run to the car and try to find a phone. But once he´d show his face outside, it´d take just a few minutes before he´d be chased down by a horde of frothing oversexed bastards.

Maybe he could find a lonely woman. He couldn´t know if this invisible phlebotinum works across sexes, but to be honest he wouldn´t mind a sexual assault from a woman as much as from a man.

"Zombie," he whispered and shuddered.

The evergrowing feeling of his own powerlessness and uselessness finally drove him to borrow one of Sam´s shirts – he could better hide his breasts in them in his opinion – pull on some trousers and venture outside.

Barefoot. He didn´t intend on running from anyone in shoes three sizes too large again.

The woman disappeared into the desert. There was no other explanation. Her track ended at the highway rest stop. She didn´t even leave footprints in the sand.

Sam turned the Impala back to Vegas. He didn´t have any other option than to return to Cherry Pies and wait.

Annina had to show up. Maybe even Dean.

Ah, Dean. How could he even fall for that trap? The most hackneyed tactic in the world. Did he lose all of his hunter instincts? Sam was almost more angry at his brother than at the murderess herself. After all, she was only doing what she was doing for whole millennia. She was probably feeding off of male sexual energy, and when she depleted her victim, she´d somehow force them to commit suicide.

And Dean should´ve sensed that. If he wasn´t so goddamn sure with himself in this regard, convinced that all the chicks just jump straight into his bed, if he didn´t consider himself an irresistible pussy magnet...

He jolted when his ringing phone interrupted his fuming thoughts.

Unknown number. He accepted the call, without a word.

"Sam!" a woman´s voice, out of breath and frightened. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"Who´s calling?"

"This is... ehm, whatever. Go back to the motel, bro-"

The call was interrupted by a scream, it sounded like someone is trying to steal the caller´s phone. Or she smashed someone´s face with it, judging from the gristly snap. Hard to say-

"Sammy!"

A scream. And then silence, the call was cut off. Sam immediately redialed the number and floored the gas. As expected, nobody was picking up. And he just wished he could juice the Impala the same as her owner.

Dean had to place a chair under the door handle. And then two nightstands, just to be sure. When he checked the situation through the window, the cluster of people who almost became accomplices in a gang rape a minute ago was confusedly dispersing.

The owner of the phone Dean borrowed was bleeding from a busted lip. A young businessman, who a moment ago was ripping off the shirt of a desperately resisting girl, was handing a tissue to the woman.

The others tried hard not to look at each other and were probably convincing themselves that what just took place was some kind of weird short circuit. A group hallucination from the heat, perhaps.

Dean couldn´t spoil himself with the luxury of denial.

Still, thanks to the minibar, he could at least soothe his ruffled nerves a bit.

When he had nothing more to pour inside himself, he curled up on the bed, pulling the tips of his torn shirt closer to his chest. He realized he was waiting for his brother to come rescue him. He couldn´t remember when he despised himself as much as he did now. But what he would otherwise vent in a burst of anger – get out and fight – he now had to stifle inside himself. He was too weak, too vulnerable. Useless.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He hiccuped. The world swayed with him.

 _It was just a few small stupid bottles from the minibar, dammit!_

 _And now you´re at least 30 pounds lighter and have a harder time processing alcohol, you ass!_

 _Shit! Is there one thing I didn´t completely and utterly screw up?_

The question was resonating in his head and he couldn´t find an answer.

He was falling into darkness.

* * *

"Dean!" Sam pounded on the door with a feeling of deja vu. And of course, no answer. And Sam couldn´t open the door despite them not being locked.

He glanced around. It didn´t look like anyone was watching him. And even if that was the case, Sam wasn´t sure he could restrain himself at this moment. He smashed the door with his shoulder. Racket could be heard on the other side, as if there was furniture falling behind the door.

Which was an entirely correct assumption, because when Sam barged in the next second he tripped over a nightstand.

"Dammit Dean!" he shouted from the floor. In his peripheral vision he spotted a curled up silhouette on brother´s bed. "What the hell are you doing?"

The figure stirred and groaned out from sleep. And Sam was left standing, paralyzed with his mouth open for another curse that never came.

The one huddled up in a ball on a crumpled sheet definitely wasn´t his brother. In one of Sam´s shirts, ripped to shreds for some reason, and in Dean´s jeans was lightly snoring an unfamiliar girl.

Not that she didn´t look cute. Oval face, her freckled nose turned up a tad bit, tousled brown hair, firm breasts and round ass... Even in her sleep, probably alcohol-induced, she was damn attractive.

But an inkling of suspicion took seed in Sam´s mind.

He turned and quietly closed the door behind himself. Then he looked at the sleeping girl again. She was still there, haven´t moved an inch. He shook his head.

Dean would never do that. Drink a poor girl under the table, plant her on a bed and then lure him there. No, that didn´t make sense. And Sam should be ashamed that this idiocy even crossed his mind.

Except his brother´s behavior since the moment they arrived to Vegas, all those ´discreet´ innuendos and nudges...

He felt Dean´s necklace in his pocket and shook his head again. At any other given time, this insane scenario could be considered, but this whole Annina thing didn´t fit at all.

He walked over to the bed, crouched down and stared at the sleeping girl´s face. He was pretty sure this was the first time he saw her, and yet he felt as if he always knew her. She had peculiar presence. A promise of peace, of safety.

Sam blinked.

He should wake her up and find out what´s going on. And then focus on the important things.

But she was important. Even if he couldn´t explain why for all he loved dear.

Dazedly, he stood up and carefully climbed on the bed next to her. He slowly eased down on the satin sheet and let the girl to nestle into his embrace in her sleep. He buried his face into her hair. Aroma of soap, cleanness and tranquility enveloped him.

He tried to pull away with the remaining strength of his will.

Except he couldn´t anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

In all of his weird dreamscapes, he was haunted by a nagging that he forgot something important. When he saw Sam with the expression of a horny zombie in the last of his psychedelic imagery, Dean suddenly came to a realization.

 _I´m really a piece of ass..._

Turned into a walking aphrodisiac. Even withered coffin-dodgers and settled mammas turned into sexual criminals in his proximity. So what does he do before he gets plastered into unconsciousness with clean conscience? He calls his brother and doesn´t even warn him.

He was perfectly awake in that moment. Even though his head was buzzing like a beehive and he was being overwhelmed by that damn girl nausea, he felt more sober than ever.

With horror he registered that someone was pressed against him from behind, tightly hugging his waist and puffing on his neck. All things considered, it was quite comforting embrace, nevertheless Dean reacted as if he woke up swathed in poison ivy.

* * *

One moment, there was blessed silence in the room, interrupted only by the muffled rattle of the air-conditioner. Pleasant semidarkness, the sharp Nevada sun without a chance to burst through the slats and the curtains.

Next moment, the drowsy mood was cut by a shrill feminine scream.

"Fuck, Sammy, no! Not this!"

One of the figures on the bed turned into a jumbled cluster of limbs. In an attempt to get as far as possible, her legs got tangled up in the satin sheets and she rolled down into the space between the beds.

"No, no, no! I´m such a friggin´ idiot!"

She managed to lift herself to her feet and climb on the second bed, where she stayed, her back pressed against the wall.

Sam sat up, shook his head in confusion and rubbed his eyes.

"It didn´t happen, right? Right? Ah, shit!" the girl´s eyes were frenziedly darting through the room, her cheeks burning a deep crimson. She hurriedly checked her belt and zipper. It appeared it calmed her down a bit when she found both untouched.

"Easy," Sam mumbled. "I´m sorry, I... should´ve woken you up and drive you home or something. I don´t know why I did that-"

"Did something happen?! Dammit, tell me that no!"

"Hey, calm down. I´m not in the habit of banging strange girls drunk into oblivion. I just fell asleep."

"So there _really_ wasn´t anything?" she asked, the mask of terror slowly smoothing out.

"Really," Sam nodded.

"You didn´t have any... irresistible urge to, ehm, you know."

"Sorry, you´re really pretty and I find you attractive, yeah, but I think I can control myself," he rubbed his forehead wearily. He shook his head and stood up. The girl looked like she intended on being absorbed into the wall at that moment. Sam lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Jesus, I really don´t... I´m not any kind of criminal, okay? I didn´t do anything to you and I´m not planning to. I would just like to know what you are doing here. Is Dean somehow involved?"

She hesitated. Then a smile slowly crept on her eyes. Unusually semi-bitter and once again so damn familiar. "Well, Dean is _definitely_ involved."

"Dammit," Sam hissed, "look, I apologize in his stead if he-"

"I don´t think he needs you to apologize for him, Sammy."

That voice. Gentle, utterly girlish. Together with the familiar intonation. The smile of a person who carries a colossal weight on their shoulders, but they´d rather die than complain. Her stance – although defensive, the unknown girl was literally driven into a corner, but she still let it be known that she was ready to fight. And maybe, only then, run away.

The look in the girl´s green eyes decided. Nobody else looked at Sam with these eyes, maybe only his mother a long time ago...

"Dean?" he breathed out. He had to sit down. He could almost hear the click as everything fell into place.

"More like Deana now," the girl threw her arms out. "At least until we track down that damn bitch and force her to fix this."

* * *

Sam sat down to the table by the window, his brother stayed in the opposite corner of the room.

"Just to be sure, Sammy, just to be sure," he bleeped in thin voice. "Damn. I realize it´s probably not affecting you, but..."

"I have to remind you that we´ll be driving in one car in a short while."

"One at a time, Sammy," Dean hummed. He fascinatedly looked at his toes adorned with hot pink nail polish. "So, with which hellish whore are we dealing with?"

"You had it written here the entire time," Sam sighed and lifted one of the papers on the table. "But okay, I get it, you had different kinds of problems. So, as per usual, she wasn´t very creative when it came to her fake name, it´s just an anagram."

"Innana?" Dean blurted out almost instantly. The younger brother nodded approvingly, but then frowned. "She´s very old. Sumerian, at least 6000 years."

Dean shuddered, disgust appearing on his delicate face.

"And I didn´t find any confirmed way of how to kill her. Just, let´s say, suggestions."

"I don´t care how many ways we´ll have to try," grumbled Dean. "I think I´ll enjoy all of them."

"Tough talk for such a tender creature."

"Tender creature my ass. Do you realize what could´ve happened? This is friggin _personal_ , Sammy."

"Sure," Sam snapped the folders shut and looked at his brother. "Maybe you should change into something less seductive. Unless you want to stay here, once I go to Cherry Pies."

"Hmm. She´s in the bar?"

"I don´t know. But it´s the only place that we know for sure where she comes."

"Okay," Dean stood up, but before he made a single step, he needed to make sure again: "Hey, and are you _really_ -"

"No. I really don´t want to shag you, Dean. Even if you were the last woman on Earth."

"Thanks, dude. I really appreciate it."

* * *

Dean startled when the passenger doors opened – but it was just Sam, returning from his recon at the bar. Billboards were slowly being switched on outside, the furnace of the day being replaced by the glow of the night. The Impala was hiding in one of the few dark spots, in the corner of the Cherry Pies parking lot right next to the dustbins.

Right when the younger brother sat down, he leaned out of the open window. Dean was pulled away from him as far as possible. Furthermore everything there smelled like Christmas – ginger and clove. Still, Sam had to admit he had to terribly concentrate to resist the allure. In the motel, when he was tired and sleep deprived and didn´t know what was happening, he didn´t do anything safe for a bit of harmless cuddling and he could calm Dean down. Even after those words (and especially the mental imagery), Dean himself had to resist the strong urge to jump through the roof of the car and make a getaway.

"So?" he asked.

"Didn´t show up today at all," Sam shrugged his shoulders. "And there´s a different bouncer, which is good, because apparently Sean is more than read to trash me until I give up my degenerate brother and then trash him until he beats what he did to poor Ann out of him."

"Awesome. I am almost glad that I am basically your _sister_ now."

"We´ll fix that. Hey, Cindy´s at the bar again and she doesn´t think of me as a major pain in the ass any more."

"Three cheers for Sammy. That will help us how?"

"She told me Annina always shows up at least once a day. So all we have to do is wait.

Dean nodded. "Fine. Do we have everything prepared?"

"Traps and weapons," Sam confirmed. "And don´t forget that all these spices may repel her but it certainly doesn´t stop her from using her powers so don´t touch her no matter what. It doesn´t matter how pissed at her you are. So... I´ll go patrolling outside for a while."

"I understand, you need fresh air," the older Winchester sighed. "I´m beginning to understand why all those guys ganked themselves. If she did this to them..."

"Don´t worry, we´ll clip her soon enough and you´ll return to normal. At least, I hope."

"Awesome," Dean sighed. "I can rest assured now."

* * *

Blood red Bentley was circling through the parking lot, mostly empty for now as the night was only beginning to take over. In a black Impala in a corner, a petite girl curled under the dashboard when the headlights of a luxurious SUV ran over the windshield.

The engine fell silent and the driver´s door opened. In that moment a tall shadow emerged from behind the Bentley and placed something exactly in the spot where immediately afterward trod two red pumps in high heels.

Their owner froze. Very slowly, she looked under her feet, on the reed mat with an eight-point star spray-painted on it.

"Adorable," she hissed. "Do I look like some kind of demon to you?"

"You certainly act like one, granny," proclaimed Dean, who just walked to the Bentley and nonchalantly leaned on the cooling hood. "Wait, I take it back. You´re worse."

"I´m also a goddess, darling, I have to be _better_ at everything," she purred and turned to Sam, who was standing right beside her. "You think that when you prevent me from moving, you´ll take my strength away as well?" She outstretched her hand, like she was about to caress Sam´s face.

"Too bad," Sam shrugged his shoulders and stepped back. "This won´t work on me."

Confusion flashed on the pretty brunette´s face, but then she smiled again. "It looks like you savored something stronger than bromine in your tea, honey. Oh well. You know, I have more than one face. The reverse side of love is war."

Her eyes burned gold, she rose her right hand. Dean´s whole girl body tensed, ready to jump at Innana despite the warnings at the first sign of danger to his brother. But only a few yellowish sparks crackled between the goddess´ fingers and then even her gaze faded back to her human, dark brown irises.

"You know," Sam sneered, "we waited here for you for quite some time, so we buried a bit of virgin menstrual blood and dove feathers in the access road to kill time.

Inanna hissed a curse, most likely unpronounceable to humans.

"We won´t drag this out granny," Dean chimed in again. He raked a hand through his hair and shifted his weight a bit nervously. "Give me back my body. Now!"

"It´s just a question of time till there are people close enough to hear calls for help. And once they set out to rescue a damsel in distress, who knows, maybe they´ll catch a different scent instead. You should be running, little girl. Run!" She bared her teeth in a furious grimace and instead of a pleasant young woman who didn´t even have to use underhanded tactics to seduce him, she now resembled a ferocious fury. "You´ll stay like this! Forever!"

"Whatever. I was looking forward to testing a couple of very painful methods of ganking you before I find the correct one, anyway."

"Go ahead!" she yelled. "And even if you did manage to kill a goddess, you will stay right as you are! Like all the other ones! You´ll soon understand that only death can free you!"

The Winchester brothers exchanged glances. The one with the bigger boobs tossed his head: "Yeah, I´ll take that chance."

"Dean, wait, we´ll wrench it out of her somehow."

"Yes," Inanna´s expression shifted again. Now she looked like an unjustly accused main heroine. "Your brother is right! Besides, I didn´t kill anyone. Those men chose their paths. And even if I did aid them, I merely liberated the world from dangerous animals. They showed no reverence for the sacredness of love and fertility whatsoever!"

"Dean, she´s right, the technically didn´t kill anyone," Sam uttered in hushed voice.

"Dude! She´s mind-whamming you, pull yourself together. You can´t fall for all this Holy Uterus crap!"

"Go on, Dean Winchester!" screeched the goddess. "Go on! Show your brother who you really are! An egoistic, chauvinist bastard. You hold everything pure and beautiful in scorn, you are unable to love and you know nobody can return love to you because you aren´t worth it! You´re so pathetic and you´re constantly making everyone around you feel the same... You´re just dragging everyone who cares about you down with you! I gazed deep inside your heart and it was empty, oh so empty and full of darkness!"

"Shut the hell up," Dean interrupted her, albeit lacking any real resolution. He appeared completely paralyzed, the brittle feminine body leaning on the Bentley´s bumper, his lips quivering.

"I´m telling the truth, right? That´s why it hurts! Because you´re exactly the same like the other eight men – a worthless piece of cattle, pretending he´s something more with all his might. But in the end you will fail, just like you failed your father and just how you keep failing your brother. How long will it take before he also dies because of you? You can´t even take care of yourself, and you want to protect-" she fell silent in the middle of a sentence, her eyes bulging. She slowly fell to her knees, gold-glowing liquid bursting from a corner her mouth. More blood gleamed like liquid gold on Sam´s hands.

He let go of the end of the massive bull horn, the other end buried in the goddess´ abdomen, and stepped back. He looked at his brother over Inanna´s head, whose skin was quickly cracking and leaking golden light.

"I couldn´t do it sooner," he whispered. "Sorry, Dean."

His brother was still residing in a female body. He gave Sam a woozy smile and managed to give him thumbs up. Then, right when the body of the dead goddess exploded into millions of golden sparks, he slid down on the ground and lay there, motionless.

* * *

Flashes, images...

Bull´s horn laying on a reed mat and abandoned red pumps.

Sam dragging him across the parking lot.

Shouting, door opening at the bar. A robust black man jumping out of a nauseatingly yellow Ford Mustang.

He´s lying on the back seat of the Impala. Convulsions. Unbearable pain in his abdomen is tearing him apart.

A baseball bat flashes behind the window, narrowly missing the bodywork. Dean skids to the side when Sam makes a sharp turn.

Darkness, crimson and black. Light from the outside. Someone´s mad screaming.

No, not someone´s. Dean´s own.

At the last moment he realizes, he´s not hearing girlish shrieking. It´s a full-fledged manly roar of pure suffering.

He smiles, before another spasm forces him to bury his face into the car seat.

And then nothing...

* * *

First rest stop behind Las Vegas. Sun was slowly rising, taking its time. Pale rays of sunlight imparted a cadaverous appearance to Dean´s slack face. However his chest was rising and falling regularly and it didn´t include anything that shouldn´t be on an ordinary man´s chest. When Sam managed to get him out from the crumpled heap in the backseat and sit him in the front, he knew he won. Yet Dean still refused to wake up.

"Come on dude, wake up already," Sam was lightly smacked his face. He carefully dangled a cup of hot coffee in front of his face so that it´s aroma thoroughly got to Dean´s nostrils.

His eyelids twitched. Dean rasped and cleared his throat. He froze, and with his eyes still closed he slowly lifted his hand and ran it over his chest. He breathed out in relief. He squinted at Sam, corners of his lips tugged in a hint of a smile. Right then a shadow fell over his face and he turned away.

"Damn weird case," he mumbled.

"You gave me quite the scare," Sam said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like..." Dean hesitated. "Like an idiot."

"Well, at least it´s a he-idiot, right?"

"I´m serious. I think that ancient crone was right. About me."

"Dean," Sam whispered. He handed the cup of coffee to his brother and held it in front of until he reached out for it and took it from his hands. "You know better than I do how these monsters work. They take all yours doubts and fears from your head and turn them against you. A minute before she started dissecting you, she said she´s starting a war. When she couldn´t use sticks and stones, so she used names instead."

Dean was silent for a long time. He was gaping at the cup of coffee with bloodshot eyes, as if he was trying to find the answers he needed.

"I left all the responsibility to you, Sammy," he said after. "And then I left you to flounder."

"Stop fretting. I wanted to take the lead for once either way."

"Yeah, and you were great at that. While I banged the prime suspect and almost let..." he clenched his teeth. "I screwed up."

"We handled it," Sam said.

Dean wordlessly hypnotized the dark surface of his coffee.

"I´ll drive to the next rest stop," Sam declared at last, "then we can switch. Fine by you?"

A nod.

The Impala´s engine purred.

* * *

Fragmentary conversations.

* * *

"Why were we even looking for, well... _that_?"

"The menstrual blood of a virgin?"

"Ew," Dean shuddered. "I mean the other weird item."

"You mean the horn of a bull. Just so that it wouldn´t be too easy, it had to be smeared with virgin´s sperm."

Silence.

"Remember how I kept saying that witches are disgusting?"

"Yeah?"

"I take it back. I should go apologize to them."

"I´m sure they´ll appreciate it, Dean."

* * *

"You know, I always really wanted to visit Vegas."

"Yeah Dean. I thought it was weird when you were lacking the enthusiasm when we were on our way there."

"Not _on business_. That´s not the same." Sam didn´t see his brother _this_ disappointed since he could remember. "But in any case, I am now cured of that."

"Great."

"You know, I was thinking... could we just pretend that none of this ever happened?"

"Agreed."

"Because what happens in Vegas..."

The hot Nevada scenery was shimmering all around.

* * *

 **This was it, if you have any thought regarding this you´d like to share, I´d be happy to hear them.**

 **Fun fact: I had no idea this story will turn out to be Wincest, I just read the first few sentences of a random story I found, decided the writing style is good enough to work on a translation and set to work. Boy I was surprised.**

 **Coolman (guest): I KNOW, I know and I know. There is nothing more I would wish for.**

 **Actually, right now I am working on translating another story, this one with Destiel in it. It´s substantially longer, so it´ll take me a while to get it all done, but stay tuned.**

 **Thanks for reading to this point. Bye!**


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